


bam n sucky

by oh_no_oh_dear



Series: tungle dot hell [11]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Grown Men Talking About Their Feelings, Insomnia, M/M, Terrible Name Combinations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-10-24 07:19:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10736862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oh_no_oh_dear/pseuds/oh_no_oh_dear
Summary: Prompt: Sam/Bucky + "ship name: 'Sucky'"





	bam n sucky

**Author's Note:**

> The trend of people giving me horrid prompts continues. (There's a reason we just stick with "Sambucky" as a ship name.)

 

People can bond in the weirdest ways when they have screaming nightmares in common.  
  
Neither of them literally  _screamed_  anymore, mind you. Bucky would start, an awful strangled sound– but he would muffle it, biting down on his hand instead. Not quite enough to break the skin. He’d gotten past doing that. Progress. Kinda.  
  
Sam, though. Sam woke not with a yell or a scream but an awful, ragged intake of breath that had his chest tightening and his eyes fluttering wildly before he could wake up. He didn’t talk to anyone about it. Definitely not progress. 

    “Can’t sleep?” Bucky asked, making Sam almost jump out of his skin.   
      
    “Barnes, what the _fuck_? You know better than to startle a military man; I damn near garroted you.”  
  
Bucky made an amused hum. “It’s cute that you think you could get the drop on me, S–”  
  
    “I literally kicked your ass across two lanes of traffic.”  
  
    “I was distracted. That doesn’t count.”  
  
    “Why’re _you_  up?” Sam asked, not getting into yet another argument over who would win in a fight. (Sam would, in a _fair_  fight. He would. He would!)  
  
    “Nightmare,” Bucky said, not elaborating. Sam moved into the dark living room where Bucky sat, mostly shrouded in shadow on the couch.   
  
    “Shitty deal, Barnes. Hell… same here. That kinda night, huh?”  
  
    “You were having a nightmare? Oh. _Ohhh_. Is that what those sounds were?” Bucky asked. Sam could see that he was cleaning his knives, because that wasn’t a fucking creepy thing for an ex-assassin to do at 2 in the morning or anything.   
  
    “What the hell did you _think_  they were?” Sam returned, flopping onto the couch beside Bucky. Bucky didn’t respond, which wasn’t unusual, but he was also avoiding Sam’s eye, which _was_ odd, because he had that whole stare-meaningfully-until-you-figured-out-he-was-mad-about-the-missing-Poptarts thing going for him.   
“Barnes, I ain’t a mind-reader. What did you think I was doing?” Sam had an inkling, but he wasn’t about to ignore an opportunity to annoy Bucky as much as the man aggravated him.  
  
    “Dunno, what lotsa grown men do alone at night,” Bucky muttered, and Sam had to try hard not to guffaw (Steve woke up at the drop of a pin, and if he found them both up he’d want to go for a _run_  or something hideous like that.)  
  
    “Jesus Christ, Bucky. That’s… so far off. You got a dirty mind.”  
  
    “Not dirty, just logical.”  
  
    “If you say so, man.”  
  
There was a companionable silence then, and Sam heaved a sigh. He still felt all wrong, feverish and achy like he’d run a marathon the day before. He idly traced his fingers over one of Bucky’s knives, the cool metal giving him something to distract himself. Bucky darted a glance at him without stopping his own task, and they just kinda… sat there for a while.   
  
Bucky spoke first, surprising both of them: “You wanna talk about it?”  
  
    “Nah.”  
  
Bucky just hummed his agreement, setting his knife down with a soft _clink_  on the glass of the coffee table. Sam was still running his fingers over the flat of the blade nearest him, his legs tucked under him in a way that screamed _I want to talk about it_  and also _I’m adorable wait no Bucky what the fuck stop that you gotta get more sleep_.   
  
    “You like that one?” Bucky tried again, gesturing to the knife under Sam’s fingers. He wasn’t great at small talk anymore, but he’d never really had to do that with Sam. They just kinda acted like assholes to each other, laughed, and … well. Spent a lot of time together. A _lot_  of time.   
  
Sam just nodded, looking over at Bucky for the briefest of moments. Bucky could sense that he was on the right track, talking about inconsequential things until Sam felt like he could say whatever it was that was bothering him.  
  
“Got that one in Italy, I think,” Bucky continued, nodding to the knife that had Sam’s attention. “Don’t remember when, but – looks pretty new.”   
  
Sam nodded again, looking at Bucky for longer now, interest clearly written on his ~~beautiful (whoa whoa what the _fuck_ , Barnes)~~ features. Grateful that the dark probably hid the sudden warmth in his face, Bucky cleared his throat before speaking again.   
  
    “I ever tell you ‘bout the time I went to this restaurant in Italy?”  
  
Sam shook his head, the ghost of a smile lifting one corner of his mouth.   
  
    “Ohh, boy. Okay, so get this – I, it’s probably not in my files, but I b… I broke free a coupla times. Could think ok on my own, mostly.” He tripped over the words, the memories difficult to parse even years later, but Sam just moved his hand from the knife and squeezed Bucky’s arm, silently comforting him. Sam always knew what to do; Bucky wanted to fucking help  _him_ , and he couldn’t even get out a funny story right. Fuck.   
“Any– anyway, I’m s’posed to kill this guy, right? He’s the restaurant owner. I don’t– I dunno why I was… gonna… doesn’t mater. I go in, charm the wait staff, just a tourist enjoyin’ his food, right?”  
  
Sam _mm-hmm_ ed to show he was still listening, his hand still resting lightly on Bucky’s forearm. Neither of them made a move to separate, and Bucky found himself… looping their arms together. Sam was offering comfort to him; the least he could do is offer it back.   
  
    “I think I’d been out too long. Thawed out, y’know?” Bucky’s laugh was sharp and bitter, but Sam huffed out an amused sound beside him.   
“I settle in, near closing. Order this pasta dish– fuck, nothin’ fancy, just noodles and sauce, y’know? But jesus christ, when I take a bite I fuckin’ _wake up_ , I’m thinkin’, what the fuck am I doin’ here? And you know what I did, Sam?”  
  
    “What?” Sam asked, speaking for the first time in a little while. Bucky wanted to lean into him, drawn by the body heat, the way that Sam’s whole face was soft with sleep and contentment (contentment from being near _Bucky,_  which was a hell of a thing, considering the start they’d gotten off to.)   
  
    “I ate my whole plate so fast the chef came out to fuckin’ _watch_  me.”  
  
    “If a guy was chewing on a plate, _I’d_  go watch too.”  
  
    “Shut up and listen. So he says somethin’ like ‘You must be hungry,’ and I say ‘I could kill for another plate’–”  
  
    “Nice. Joking about murder to your assigned hit,” Sam muttered, his arm still relaxed against Bucky’s ribs. Bucky snorted in agreement.  
  
    “I’m a classy guy, Wilson. So then I… hell, this is a shitty story.”  
  
    “Why?”  
  
    “Nothin’ happens at the end of it. They laughed, I laughed, an’… I just left. Didn’t do nothin’ to the guy. Just had a coffee and then left. Could barely walk, I was so full.” His voice had gotten quieter, and truthfully, the story wasn’t _that_  interesting but… he’d had a whole evening to himself, clear-headed, doing what he wanted, eating what he wanted, not killing or hurting anyone, and him sharing that story with Sam meant…. something. He didn’t know what.  
  
    “Hell of a story, Barnes,” Sam smirked, nudging Bucky in the side a little. “I laughed, I cried, I contemplated the meaning of life–”  
  
    “Shut the fuck up; you got a better story?”  
  
Sam was quiet for so long that Bucky worried that he’d overstepped, reminded Sam of something he wasn’t ready to discuss, but then–  
  
    “They used to call us Silo.”  
  
    “Sorry, the hell’d you just say?”  
  
    “I think this is the first time I’ve heard you say ‘sorry,’ Barnes.”  
  
    “I’m runnin’ outta ways to tell you to shut your trap, Wilson. Explain the ‘Silo’ thing.”  
  
    “You want me to shut up, or you want me explain?”  
  
    “ _Sam_ ,” Bucky groaned, amusement tinging his voice despite the annoyed scowl he was giving the man.   
  
    “Okay, so– Silo. I dunno, it was stupid. I guess me n’ Riley were tight–”  
  
    “ _Ooooh-ooh-oooooh…”  
_  
    “I hope you break a hip.”  
  
    “Mhm. G’on.”  
  
    “So, y’know like… Bennifer ... Brangelina...” Sam said, gesturing vaguely. Bucky suddenly looked shifty; he didn’t like to be reminded of his weird _E!Hollywood_  addiction too much. Suffice it to say, he very much knew what Sam was referring to.  
  
    “That… you two’d’v’e been ‘Siley,’ then, no?”  
  
    “Yeah, but– okay, so Riley was… this _white boy–_ even whiter than _you_ –”  
  
    “Objection.”  
  
    “Shove it up ya ass. So, he’s literally the epitome of a corn-fed country boy, and grain silos, countryside, so… I dunno, ‘Siley’ became ‘Silo’ real fast.”  
  
    “That’s stupid.”  
  
    “So’s strapping a rocket-powered kite to your back and jumping, but…”  
  
    “Yeah, I guess I meant _you’re_  stup– _ow!”_ Bucky was cut off by Sam swiftly flicking his ear to get him to shut up. Then, surprisingly, Sam heaved a huge sigh.   
  
    “We went everywhere together. He came to visit my ma when we had time off.”  
  
    “Sounds nice. You ever see his folks?”  
  
    “They… wouldn’t… yeah, no. No, they weren’t jumping for joy over Riley’s black boyfriend, so…”  
  
    “ _Fuck_  ‘em,” Bucky said venomously, his arm tightening briefly. Sam made a soft sound that was almost a laugh.   
  
    “Thanks. ‘S what Riley said. And… yeah, he was gonna go back and tell them to deal with it or he’d cut them off, and–” Sam broke off, pulling his arm out of the loop of Bucky’s. Bucky felt his chest constrict unpleasantly at this loss of contact with Sam, but then Sam leaned his body weight against him and Bucky couldn’t help the small smile that appeared unbidden on his face.   
“Move your arm,” Sam muttered, huffing exasperatedly when Bucky shifted awkwardly. “Like– put it around me, damn Barnes, ain’t you ever tried to neck with someone before?”  
  
    “Have I– wh– I mean, of course I fuckin’ have,  _sure_ , but–” Bucky broke off, realizing that Sam was fucking with him– but his face was all hot and he’d unthinkingly draped his arm around Sam, pulling him closer. Sam, for his part, fitted himself against Bucky’s side as though this was a totally natural thing to do.     
  
Sam continued as though there’d been no interruption, “He was gonna tell his parents. To take him… and me… like we were, or he wasn’t gonna talk to them anymore.”  
  
    “Did he?” Bucky asked, quiet because he felt like he knew the answer, and it wasn’t a good one.  
  
    “Nah. Got hit the next day,” Sam said shortly. Bucky squeezed his shoulder – _I’m listening_  – and Sam took a shaky breath in.   
“Know what they said over the comms? They said. They said ‘ _Shit, Silo’s down_ ,’ like we were the same person. And it felt like I was falling too, so I was thinking _Damn, yeah, Silo’s down_  – like I wasn’t even Sam, I was just a ghost up there already, y’know? Know what I mean?” Sam’s voice was quiet.  
  
    “Yeah.”  
  
    “I was falling. In my dream. Me and Riley. Silo. But we never hit the ground, just always fuckin’… falling. And I could never catch him.”  
  
Bucky didn’t know what to say, so he squeezed Sam’s shoulder again.   
  
    “You’re gonna bruise me, man.”  
  
    “Sorry,” Bucky murmured, loosening his grip slightly.  
  
    “That’s the second ‘sorry’ tonight, Barnes. Must be a special occasion.”  
  
    “If you hadn’t just told me just about the saddest damn story I ever heard, I’d lay into you.”  
  
    “You’d do what now, gramps?”  
  
    “You’re older than me!”  
  
    “Sure, mhm. I know one of us snaps his fingers to big band music, and it ain’t _me.”  
_  
Bucky scoffed, but didn’t bother to reply… and the two of them lapsed into a comfortable silence again. Sam was staring at the glint of the street lights outside off of Bucky’s knives. Bucky was staring at… Sam. The streetlights were doing some pretty great things to the contours of the man’s face.   
  
    “Sucky.”  
  
    “Fucking what?”  
  
Bucky turned to look at Sam (which was a bit awkward because his arm was still around him) and grinned in that I’m-really-tired-and-everything-is-funny way.   
“If you combined our names. We’d be ‘Sucky.’”  
  
    “That’s a shitty power couple name.”  
  
    “Well it’s either that or ‘Bam,” Bucky said. “Wait, power couple?”  
  
    “Yeah, man,” Sam said around a truly enormous yawn. “The chemistry is undeniable.”  
  
Bucky scowled, sure Sam was fucking with him – and even looking at his teasing grin, he… still wasn’t sure.   
  
    “Chemistry,” Bucky said flatly.   
  
    “Yep.”  
  
    “I just told you bout eatin’ spaghetti and then getting shoved back in the freezer an hour after.”  
  
    “So? Not like _my_  story was happy– wait, shit. Barnes, you didn’t fucking say Hydra got you back after the… pasta whatever.”  
  
    “Yeah, well. Wanted a Disney ending for you.”  
  
    “Disney,” Sam said, sounding remarkably as unimpressed as Bucky just had.   
  
    “Yeah, Wilson. You gotta have a nice Disney ending when you're talkin' to a pretty guy.” Bucky was tired, Sam was fucking beautiful, and there was only so much brain power Bucky could devote to pretending one of those things wasn’t true.  
  
    “Okay, wait. Wait. I’m not disagreeing but. Are you fucking with me, or hitting on me?”  
  
    “…yes.”  
  
    “Your idea of flirting is weird pasta stories and blurting that I’m _pretty_.”  
  
    “Yep.”  
  
    “Why _pretty?”  
_  
    “Ask your eyelashes, Wilson. Damn things look like one of those whatsit. Revlon. Mascara.”  
  
Sam looked nonplussed before pouting and fluttering his eyelashes a little, startling a laugh out of Bucky.   
  
“See? It worked. You’re flirtin’ back,” Bucky smirked. Sam wrinkled his nose.   
  
    “Who says I’m flirting? You didn’t even ask me out to dinner.”  
  
    “Ah, hell. Sam, wanna go to dinner with me?”  
  
    “No.”  
  
Bucky blinked. But hadn’t he–?  
  
“I prefer brunch dates,” Sam said smugly.   
  
    “I swear to god. Okay. Brunch. I can’t believe you made me say that word.”  
  
    “It’s a better combination than ‘Sucky’!”  
  
    “Don’t insult Sucky. Sucky is pure romance.”  
  
    “ _You’re_  fuckin’ sucky.”  
  
    “Oh, I’ll _show_  you sucky, Wilson.” Bucky’s voice had taken on a darker quality and he moved his hand from Sam’s shoulder to lightly cupping the back of his head.   
  
    “Yeah?” Sam breathed, clearly with the program. “Show me, then. Bet I’m better than you at it.”  
  
    “Only one way to find out.”  
  
    “Uhhh, actually, let’s… not.” Steve said, faint but clear from his room upstairs. His super-hearing had its downsides.    
“Or, can you wait to show each other after I’m outta the house?” Steve continued, his voice plaintive.  
  
(They didn’t wait.)  
  



End file.
